Five Cups of Cheap Coffee
by carpenoctem22
Summary: Realizing your the boy you counted as your best friend is the same person you've been trying to murder for the past year isn't the way Valerie expects to celebrate saving the world, but it's what she's stuck with. Now she just has to find a way to fix things. Saving the world, it turns out, was the easier part. (Post-PP).
1. Chapter 1

**Wow look, a story that's not Gravity Falls. This is simply a plot bunny that's been bugging me forever, along with a lot of dissatisfaction of how they resolved Valerie's arc in season 3 - *cough* they didn't *cough*. It should only be a few chapters, if you're paying attention to the title.**

* * *

Valerie's fairly used to life throwing her curve balls. She can hardly remember her life full of steady constants, of lunch at the popular table with her popular friends and shirts that cost over fifty dollars. (How did she ever waste that much money on tops, much less ones she couldn't fight in?) a life before nights spent with the warmth of her gun pulsing beneath her fingers, of her feet planted firmly on the sleek, humming surface of her hoverboard as she shot forward. Her life is one of guns and ghosts and getting smacked through walls at one am occasionally. She's used to curve balls.

But to be fair, this is less of a curve ball and more of a direct hit to the face.

Even mere hours out, the memory is surreal.

The cold that had been plaguing her since the moment she set foot in the North Pole – she could no longer feel it. She couldn't feel anything. She stood there, in the small crowd of relieved, applauding people, their world just barely saved, her own hands numbly rising in a desperate sort of mimicry.

Feeling nothing.

In hindsight, she's an idiot. The messy white hair is no different in its perpetually ruffled state than when black. The wiry, always-bruising frame is no different in the black jumpsuit than in jeans and a t-shirt. And the eyes – god, she's so stupid – his eyes have always been the same. Those stupid, piercing eyes that look at the world like it's his own responsibility or his own inside joke. Those stupid eyes that looked at her like she was worth something, even when she left him screaming with a voltage she couldn't think about – when she – _oh god._

Even hidden in the safety of the small room she's been given with her father, Valerie wants to run.

How could he not tell her? How could he let her – let her –

Was she not good enough? Did he assume she wouldn't listen to him, wouldn't understand?

 _(Did he have a very good reason not to? Ye-)_

Valerie stamps down on the surge of emotions. Her world is crashing down around her ears, but she won't crack. She won't. He doesn't get to do this to her.

She takes a deep breath, running her hands through her hair. She frowns at the gnarled tangles in it, wincing as several strands rip free. She can't hide in here forever, she thinks, dully. The celebrations ought to be dying down soon, and people will want to be going home.

Home. She'd kill to be there now. Anywhere but this stupid frozen wasteland, where she can't get her head in order.

She stands, straightening her jacket as she heads for the door. Maybe she can help with repairs, or…something. There's not much they can do, with the Fenton-jet being a smoldering wreckage on the mountainside. There's a few helicopters she could probably sneak on, but she can't leave her dad behind.

No, she thinks turning the handle. She'll wait it out, like everyone else stuck in this place. She yanks the door open, and freezes.

"V-Val!"

Danny's hand is still half-raised, poised to knock. His face is caught in an expression of fear and awkward sheepishness. She stares at him like he's a ghost ( _ha_ ). He looks as tired as she does, the circles beneath his eyes turning from bruised-purple to black. She can see bruises lining his cheek, his neck, the arm he still has half-raised. He looks small and exhausted and breakable. He doesn't look anything like a ghost whose screams can level a city, whose hands can bring hulking monsters to their knees.

He looks like _Danny_ , with those stupid blue eyes staring at her like he actually _cares_.

She might want to cry again, but she'd die before that happened.

"What do you want?" she asks, her voice cold. Good.

Danny flinches back. "Look, Val, I get…. I get that you're mad, okay? And you have every right to be, okay, I just-" he swallows. "Look, can we talk?"

"We are talking," she says, flatly.

Danny takes a breath. "You know what I mean, Val."

"Don't call me that," she snaps, pushing past him. She marches down the hallway, Danny's footsteps almost imperceptible as he follows her.

"Okay, Valerie." His voice is quieter, almost wounded. Valerie shoves back the flash of guilt she feels.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" she says, eyes glued firmly ahead. "Basking in the glory of saving the world? With your friends, or something?"

"I am with a friend," Danny says. Valerie sucks in harshly. "And I don't want to 'bask.' I don't wanna talk about it at all, actually."

His tone suggests he's more than had it with the subject. Valerie's not surprised. For Phantom, she might have been, but Danny… Danny's never been about the spotlight, has he?

"Then go fly somewhere they won't ask you about it," she says. "Or turn invisible, since you can do that, you know."

"Val, I – Valerie, I mean – look, can't we talk about this?"

"About what?" she snaps, whipping around. He freezes, inches from her face. "About how you lied to me? About how you had ghost powers this whole time but never trusted me? About how you ruined my life?"

Danny's face crumples, and he draws back as if she's physically hit him. "Val-"

"About how you let me shoot at you?" she continues, her chest growing tight and her eyes growing hot. "About how I've been hunting you for _months?_ About how I – how I _tortured you-_ " she breaks off, her voice cracking. She swears, turning away from him. Damnit, this is not how this is supposed to go, she is not supposed to get _emotional-_

"Valerie," Danny says, his voice soft. "Valerie, none of this was your fault-"

"Shut up," she snaps, and he does. She should leave now, storm away with what little dignity she has left. She doesn't. She stands there, next to him in the hall, fighting back the unwelcome surge of tears.

After a minute, Danny takes a breath. "D'you- do you wanna get coffee?"

She glances at him, frowning. He scuffs the floor awkwardly.

"It's free in the cafeteria, and it should be empty right now," he says, slowly. "And I don't know about you, but I'm really, _really_ tired."

Valerie straightens, sucking in a breath. She thinks of saying no, of leaving him alone in the hall and running.

She glances back at him. His eyes are searching her, with that same mixture of fear and guilt – and perhaps a shred of hope.

His eyes are blue.

She swallows. "Okay," she says, softly. "Let's get coffee."

The smile that flashes across his face is blinding, even if he quickly struggles to suppress it.

The coffee the cafeteria offers is, in Valerie's opinion, some of the worst she's ever had. It somehow manages to be both too weak and too bitter at the same time, and the tiny plastic creamers Danny scavenges do little to help that taste. But it's also the first coffee she's had in weeks, and she's running on less sleep than she wants to think about, so it's also the best coffee she's ever had, in a way.

The cafeteria is empty, save for an analyst slumped over snoring, and Valerie notes the obvious relief on Danny's face at that. They don't talk. She has hundreds of questions, all crowding her mind and bursting against her tongue, but she doesn't have the energy to ask them. And Danny seems perfectly content to sit there in silence, sipping at the awful coffee as the wind howls against the roof.

It should be awkward. It should be bitter. It's not. It's the kind of quiet companionship she's missed.

The only time they speak is when they rise to leave, the sound of voices growing closer through the halls. She turns to leave, only to be stopped by Danny's hand. She glares at him and he quickly releases her wrist.

"We should do this again? Soon?"

It's more a plea than a question. Against her better wishes, Valerie nods. Danny gives that dumb smile again, this time not even trying to suppress it.

"Oh, and Danny?" she says, as she leaves for her dad. He turns. "That coffee was horrible."

He grins. "Touché," he says. "I'll find better next time."

 _Next time._ Valerie snorts. He means it, of course, this is Danny - but the likelihood of Danny and her crossing paths again soon is slim. He's got bigger things to worry about, now.

She ignores the faint twinge in her chest at that. _Next time._

 _As if._


	2. Chapter 2

**I've been a miserably slow writer lately, blame classes. Hopefully once finals are over I'll be able to get more fics up without them sitting half-finished in my folder for months. Summer is too far away.**

 **Danny's trying his best, Valerie. Cut him some slack.**

* * *

Valerie's not expecting life to return to normal after the incident, and she's not surprised.

Well, mostly.

All the news wants to talk about for the next few weeks is the asteroid, of course. And the ghosts. And the ghost-boy. Whose identity has, somehow, miraculously, not been blown far and wide across television screens. Her father informs her of the unofficial vow of secrecy the eighty-something people at the North Pole took – a pact heavily enforced by the heavy glares and glowing weapons of the Fentons, she's guessing. She's not sure how long that many people can keep their mouths shut, but so far, they've done a good job of it.

She guesses she's happy about it. It would complicate things if she had to confront Danny from the other side of the glass in a lab somewhere deep in the GIW's base.

She's not that worried. He's a ghost. He can take care of himself.

(He'd better.)

Valerie rubs her eyes, trying to banish the thoughts that have been running full-force through her mind since the North Pole. She returns her attention to the English homework she was in the process of filling out. The small print of the sentence diagrams blur before her eyes, mocking her. She resists the urge to slam her head against her desk. Tired or not, she's already way too far behind on her schoolwork – ghost hunting cut drastically into her once-decent grades. She's lucky enough that, having discovered her secret, Mr. Lancer was generous enough to give her the chance to make a lot of it up.

Lucky, she thinks, sullenly, glaring at the textbook. The amount of work he's left her with is ridiculous, even if she does have who knows how many extensions. And she can't even work with someone on it, much less complain to her friends about it – the homework's an entirely different assignment then what they completed about a month ago.

There is _one_ person she could work with, of course. But with their relationship a mess of undefinable sharp edges and hot spots, she'd written off that idea within minutes.

Valerie sighs, her eyes straying back to the muted TV. The coverage of the asteroid incident is still playing 24/7, the ghost boy – Danny's – picture plastered at the edge of the screen while an exhausted reporter continues to read reports.

Despite the general chaos and rather ridiculous blow-up of the media over the ghosts, a lot of good ended up coming out of the entire incident – other than saving the world, of course. Her dad's suddenly doing much better financially, for one. News of his involvement with the asteroid spread fast. Axiom Labs itself had called him, all simpering promises and eager to welcome him back. _Ugh_. Her dad's still on the fence about that one. She's seen his emails – there's a lot of offers.

And then there's Vlad Masters. Or the lack of him, actually. Amity Park is currently without a mayor, after his sudden disappearance. No one's quite sure where he went, and Valerie isn't sure whether she's glad about that or not. On one hand, it means there's no one with the power to hang over her head anymore, manipulating her and threatening her about ghost hunting. On the other hand, it means she's missing out on a good, solid punch square in the smug liar's face.

Valerie's hand tightens around the pencil. Any anger she has towards Danny for his deception pales drastically in comparison to her fury at Vlad. That he'd been manipulating her, using her for his own selfish ends for so long, drove her crazy. That he'd used her to capture – to _torture_ – Danny, when he _knew_ -

It's the fact that she fell for it, though, that makes her angriest. He sold her everything she wanted to hear, appealed right to her anger and drive for revenge, and she bought it hook, line, and sinker.

She fights the urge to punch something. If she hadn't already had it altered by her dad, she would've been tempted to burn her suit in one fit of indignant fury.

Only tempted, though. She's grown a bit attached. And you never know when you might need a suit like that, in Amity Park.

Valerie sighs, letting her pencil drop against the barely-marked paper. It quickly rolls to the floor, plunking on the ground and bouncing against her foot. She doesn't bother to pick it up, resting her head against the textbook instead. She's never going to get caught up with anything, at this rate. The small black lettering blurs as her vision slides sideways, any motivation whatsoever departing her completely.

 _Tap, tap._

Valerie shoots up at the sudden sound, her heart rocketing to her throat. Her window's on the sixth story, but that doesn't mean no one can break in. She dives for her bed, yanking her blaster out before aiming it the window. Her curtains are still drawn, so it's left to her imagination who – or what's – knocking at her window. Maybe they've left already-

 _Tap, tap._

Valerie takes a breath. She edges forward, fingers tight just above the trigger. With her free hand, she grasps the flimsy cotton material of her curtains. She takes another breath. In one sweeping gesture, she yanks the curtains back, kicks open the window, and points her blaster at the intruder's face.

" _Get OUT_ -"

" _shitValI'msorryit'smepleasedon'tkillmeyet-"_

Valerie freezes, her eyes wide as she stares at Danny, balancing precariously on her ledge, hands raised in an open gesture.

"Danny?!" she asks, incredulous. "What – what are you doing? Here?!"

"I was – uh – I wanted to – talk to you?" Danny says, rushed and nervous. "It's been a few weeks and you did say we could, uh, talk sometime?"

Valerie stares at him. "Why are you at my window?"

"I didn't want to wake your dad up," Danny says, rubbing the back of his head. "And I, uh, didn't think you'd appreciate me using…other means, to get through your door."

Valerie can't suppress the knee-jerk reaction that comes from the reminder, and it's hard to miss the wince that flits across Danny's face. She exhales wearily.

"Okay," she says. "Fine. But you only get fifteen minutes, okay? I've got better things to do."

"Thanks, Valerie," Danny says, giving her a genuine smile. "But – uh, could you maybe stop pointing your blaster at me?"

Valerie starts, flushing as she drops the blaster, tossing it back against her bed. She hadn't even realized she'd still had it.

"Come in before you kill yourself, geez," she says, retreating to her desk. Danny takes a careful step through her window, landing on her carpeting without a sound. He makes no further movement after that, though, staring around her room curiously. Valerie sighs.

"You can sit down, you know."

"Oh – yeah, thanks," Danny says. He glances around, unsure, before gingerly taking a seat on her floor, his back against her bed.

"Just don't get too comfortable," Valerie mutters. She eyes him. "And wasn't the deal that you'd get me coffee?"

"Oh, yeah!" Danny says, quickly reaching for a backpack she hadn't even noticed. "It's kind of late, so I had to improvise – the only thing open was the gas station." He removes two silvery cans from his bag, glancing at the label before handing one to her. "They're not exactly high-quality, but they're good, I promise. Double shot expressos, so lots of caffeine."

"I might forgive how cheap this is for that," Valerie says, the ache in her head practically begging for caffeine.

"The more caffeine, the better," Danny says, opening his. "It's the only way to survive, you know?"

"Yeah," she says, taking a sip of her own. It's cheap, alright, but it's not the worst thing she's ever had. And there's definitely caffeine in it. "About as well as you do, I'm guessing. I don't even know what sleep is anymore."

"Hm," Danny says, swirling his can absently. "Nah, I'm pretty sure I get less sleep than you."

"What, now that you're a celebrity?" Valerie says.

Danny shudders. "Ugh, no. I mean, yes – well, sort of?" He scratches his head. "Phantom's the… _celebrity_ ," the word is said with extreme distaste. "So they try, but it's hard to hound me when there's the danger of getting blasted to pieces by the vengeful ghost of the week."

"I wouldn't put it past them."

"Yeah, well, some of them actually value their lives," Danny snorts. "But as long as I transform out of sight, I can escape. That, and the invisibility helps, too. A bit."

"Invisibility," Valerie repeats. There are a hundred questions on her tongue, about ghosts, about powers, what it's _like_ – but she doesn't ask.

She's not sure if it's for his sake or hers.

"Thank you, by the way," Danny says suddenly, staring down at his coffee.

Valerie raises an eyebrow. "What for?"

"For agreeing to the pact. For not telling," he says. "Who I am. It, uh – it means a lot."

Valerie stiffens. "I wouldn't have told anyone, even without the pact," she says, stung by the idea that he'd even think she'd sell him out. "I'm not that kind of person, no matter what you think."

"I didn't think you were – that you would've-" Danny fumbles. "That's not what I meant, Val – erie. You know that."

"Do I?" she says, meeting his stare head-on, clear blue clashing with her own fiery brown.

"You should," Danny says, holding her gaze. "Because you know what having your identity – your _real_ identity – safe means. And you know how much it means not to have that blown any farther than it already is."

Valerie breaks the stare, bringing her coffee just to her lips. "Yeah," she says, staring at her reflection the metal of the can. "I do."

Danny says nothing, but there's an obvious smile on his face as he sips at his own coffee.

She leans back in her chair, her legs tucked beneath her as she watches Danny. It's odd – she's almost missed him.

"This coffee is awful," she says.

"Yeah, but it's not _horrible_ ," Danny says. "Improvement?"

Valerie rolls her eyes. "Sure," she says.

"Improvement."


End file.
